One Child by Jeff Buick Read Free Book Online

nod on the quality, then he sat on the couch. He watched Maelle as she poured over the schematics of Moscow's largest sports stadium, then checked his watch. "Dinner in an hour. No blue jeans. We're going to the Sky Lounge."
    "I'll be ready," she said without looking up. "Did you tell Androv and Besovich that I was coming?"
    "No," Trey said. "Things are always so much more fun when there is a surprise involved."
    "You're childish," she snapped.
    "You like it."
    She looked up from under her hair, which fell down across her eyes. "I like it when we're having fun. This is business."
    Miller didn't bother responding. There was no reason to. Maelle would let him know when the time was right for them to play. If ever. He had let her know he was willing to blur the lines between the job and pleasure when they had met in the church, now it was in her court to make the next move. He picked up the Mac laptop, keyed in his password for his international bank account in the Caymans and checked the balance. It was a touch over three million. Yesterday the dollar figure was a bit over two, so Fleming 's million dollars had arrived. He clicked on the transfer icon and sent eighty thousand US to Maelle's account in Jersey, where he had deposited large sums of money many times.
    So nice dealing with professionals , he thought. He sent Fleming a quick e-mail about meeting with the team before closing the computer.
    "We're going to be late," he said.
    "Fashionably," Maelle replied. "Nobody ever eats in Moscow before nine o'clock."
    The drive from the Korston Hotel, set in the picturesque green district of the Vorobyovy Hills, to the Sky Lounge was less than fifteen minutes. The restaurant was in Gargarin Square, set atop the building housing the Russian Academy of Sciences and almost directly across the river from Luzhniki Stadium. The late evening sun reflected off the building's gold windows.
    Two men were sitting at the corner table on the outside terrace. The river, and the stadium, were easily visible to the west, tucked into one of Moscow's most eco-friendly zones. On the east side of the bridge and the freeway was a solid block of concrete apartment buildings. Spreading out directly below the ornate sciences center were the Leninsky Hills, an undulating wave of trees punctuated by red tile roofs. Moscow at its best. Neither man was enjoying the view. They were both watching Trey and Maelle approach.
    "Petr. Alexi." He offered his hand. They both stood and shook.
    Petr Besovich was short and thick, his chest so wide it forced his arms to hang at a twenty-degree angle to his body. He had no neck to speak of, his head appeared directly attached to his broad shoulders. His features were crude - the flattened nose and protruding ears common to professional boxers, which he had been in his youth. He was early forties with a thick thatch of jet-black hair and dense eyebrows to match. A scar sliced across his lower right cheek and disappeared below his jawbone. Every time Besovich shaved he remembered the look on the face of the man who had cut him - as he died from a severed trachea.
    "Trey," Besovich said, his eyes focused on Maelle. "I see you brought some pussy with you. What's wrong with Russian girls?"
    "I see you haven't changed," Maelle said. "You're still a pig."
    Besovich grinned. "Pig or not, girls like me."
    "Not this one," she said, sitting. She acknowledged the other man. "Hello, Alexi."
    "Maelle," he said, retaking his seat. Alexi Androv was the other end of the spectrum from Petr Besovich. He was average height and slender, stylishly dressed in camel-colored slacks and an untucked black silk shirt. His shoes were pointed and well polished. Androv's face conveyed kindness, soft brown eyes and an easy smile framed by nicely coifed, blond hair. Of the three men, his look was the most sophisticated and benevolent. The sophisticated part was true - he had lived in Moscow all his life, attended the ballet and enjoyed art galleries. The